


What Happens Next

by RustedWireWitch



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternative Universe - Haou wins, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21676255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RustedWireWitch/pseuds/RustedWireWitch
Summary: Years after escaping the clutches of Haou, Manjoume still can't shake the nightmares that follow him.
Relationships: Haou | Supreme King/Manjoume Jun | Chazz Princeton
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24
Collections: Yu-Gi-Oh! It's Time to G-G-G-Gift! [Mini-Exchange]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VioVayo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioVayo/gifts).



Manjoume watched them all disappear.

One by one.

Screaming into the void.

Locked in place, cold air sapping the warmth from his skin, he stood helpless as his friends were stolen away. Kenzan, Fubuki, Asuka...

Past them all, one figure stood and watched the grim proceedings with all the care and interest of a statue standing monolithic against the moon. Black carapace surrounding a pale and proud form, golden eyes glaring out unblinking. 

The figure motioned to him with a single gauntleted hand.

How many times had this happened now?

The figure beckoned.

Manjoume knew what would happen next.


	2. Chapter 2

Manjoume didn't even scream when he woke up anymore. As he lay staring at the ceiling, waiting for his heart to slow down and for the nightmare's aftermath on his body to subside, he wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He turned his head to the left, wincing at the lances of sunlight piercing through the blinds. He groaned, half from frustration and half from the headache that was rapidly hatching inside his skull. It was morning. Early. But not early enough. He knew that if he didn't get up this second, there was no way he was going to make his appointment on time.  
He slithered out of the bed, his face contorting as his feet connected with the cold wooden floor. For once he was almost thankful to live alone, no witness to him scampering inelegantly across the apartment and flinging himself into the bathroom.

The pipes in the wall whined in protest as Manjoume set the shower as hot as he could get it, standing under a welcome jet of warmth that banished the chill and cleansed him of the sweat that always came with the nightmares. He tilted his head to one side, letting the water roll down the side and back of his neck.

With a jolt his eyes snapped open, sucking in air through his teeth, slamming his hands against the tiled wall as pain tore through his shoulders. Hot water spattered against lacerations so deep that he swore he was steam-cleaning bone. He reached back reflexively, hand brushing past his tangles of hair and grasping out at that spot between his shoulders, reaching for the wound.

The wound that he knew wasn't there. He shut his eyes, focused, got his breathing back under control and let the water wash down his unspoiled back. He remembered everything that the doctor had told him.

"The cuts went deep. No-one can ever say they didn't." He muttered to himslf, water spilling past his lips. "But that's over. It's over because I say it is."

He slowly drew his hand back and, for a moment, almost believed the words.

~

The clock on the wall chipped away at the seconds, 12 minutes past 10. Manjoume sat far forward in the armchair, resting his elbows against his knees and glaring with malicious intent at the carpet. Such a sickening shade. It made him feel like vomiting. Though in retrospect, perhaps that had something to do with the matcha latte he had ordered, picked up and consumed in the space of less than a minute on his way here. He peeked upwards, past the hanging frame of his hair and into the eyes of his therapist. 

"Tell me about the dream." She said.

Manjoume sighed. "It doesn't change. It never changes. Every single night it's the same thing."

"Run me through it."

His head dropped and he ran his thumbnail along the length of his index finger, again and again.

"It always starts with them being taken away from me. My friends. He takes them away and there's nothing I can do to stop him."

"Where does he take them?"

"I don't know," he lied, "but I don't get to go with them. He has other plans for me."

"What plans?"

Manjoume flinched at the memory of a blade pressing into flesh. Something burned. Something popped.

"I won't push you to talk about it, if you don't want to."

"No. It's ok. It's just," Manjoume paused, leaning back in his chair. "What's the point? It's the same dream every time. You know what happens next."


	3. Chapter 3

Wherever he was, it was warm.

Manjoume had the vaguest recollection about being underground or perhaps just at the very lowest levels of a vast building. The heat, coupled with the pressure of stale air, threatened to overpower him. If it weren't for the restraints that he found himself in, Manjoume was certain that he would have collapsed to the ground. His arms were out to either side, chains drawn tight around his wrists and raised just high enough that he couldn't comfortably lower himself. Neither could he stand up straight, leaving him instead at a half slump that was already beginning to spark knots of pain through the muscles of his back.

Sweat ran from his forehead, stinging his eyes and collecting at the tip of his nose. The tingling was made him grimace, shaking his head to loosen the droplets, the movement in turn bringing out a host of pains in his body as old bruises were agonised once again.

Through the aching, he was vaguely aware of footsteps in the dust, strangers entering the chamber. He blinked through the sweat and saw a host of shadows lining the walls, faces obscured under thick hoods, but all undeniably grinning. All of them delighted for their front row seat to the show.

"You tried to run from me."

That voice, no matter how many times he had heard it, hundreds? Thousands? It always struck him like a knife to the gut. Cold, dead, empty. So empty that Manjoume felt as though hearing it was dragging part of him away, as if it were trying desperately to fill itself. When the king spoke, he always felt lesser for it.

"No, your majesty." Manjoume's voice buckled under the strain, his lips dry save for the trickle of blood from where they cracked, his throat trembling.

Haou turned his uncaring gaze over Manjoume's body, reaching out and entangling armoured fingers in his thick black hair. Manjoume, in turn, screwed his eyes tightly shut, in part to keep the tears from flowing and to keep from looking his captor directly in the eye. It didn't help, he could still feel that predatory glower cutting through his eyelids. Haou let go of his hair and Manjoume heard his heavy boots stepping around him as something metal was dropped onto a pile of hard objects. A flicker, a flare, a fire starting. From behind him, the king spoke.

"You know what happens next."


	4. Chapter 4

Manjoume didn't bother opening his eyes for the first few minutes after waking up.

Lying in the dark, fists gripping his sheets tightly, finding them slick with what he prayed silently to be sweat. It was dark, no beams of sunlight playing across his eyelids, but he wasn't certain what time that meant it was. Early or late? Did it matter? He groaned as he sat up, casting everything aside and hobbling to the bathroom. He was there before he even started to think about opening his eyes.  
The water was rushing about him, cascading over his shoulders as the fog of sleep finally started to lift from his fevered brain. He braced himself against the wall and stared down at the plughole, at the swirling torrent that disappeared out of view. He watched as the water darkened, thickened, congealed into a black and red mass as it rushed around his feet. The shower was cleansing him of the stains of the day before. Washing away the filth and the blood, making him fit for another-

No!

He punched the wall, a stabbing pain rushing from his knuckles up his entire arm. A sting lingered in his hand as he withdrew it, rubbing it across his eyes. The dark tide below blurred, cleared and was simple water once again. He sighed, the breath coming out low and ragged. Today was going to be even worse.

~

"Define worse."

Manjoume lay back and stared up at the ceiling. Blank.

"Manjoume?"

He glanced back down, at his therapist's patient gaze. 

"Just... Worse," he said quietly. "Each dream seems to last longer. They're getting more and more vivid. For a few hours the morning after each one I can still feel the bruises and the cuts. I can still see the blood from where he ruined me."

"What do you do? When these phantom sensations take hold?"

"I just wait for it to pass. I tell myself I'm in control."

"And why do you think these dreams are becoming more intense now?"

"I don't know."

"You've been doing very well these last ten years Manjoume, don't ever doubt that. The things that you must have gone through during your-" the doctor trailed off. Past her shoulder, the clock ticked away. "But these things are never a straight line. Sometimes to get through the woods, the path has to veer a little left or a little right. If you just carried on walking in one direction, well, you'd lose the path and walk straight into a tree. Or worse."

She gave him a slightly sad smile. He didn't reciprocate.

"Close your eyes, Manjoume." She told him. He slowly let his head slip back and pressed his eyes closed.

"You know what happens next." She said. A tear welled in the corner of his eye as, somewhere nearby, a door opened.


	5. Chapter 5

The moonlight that filtered into the bedchamber was the colour of a rich, dark wine. If Misawa had been there, Manjoume was sure that he would have given some explanation involving desert sand in the atmosphere. But Misawa wasn't there, and Manjoume was left to construct his own theories involving the countless dead and dying Duel Spirits out there in the wilderness, their blood draining into the dust.

He lay back against the bed, letting the seemingly infinite expanse of the blankets envelop him and start to drag him downwards into the heart of the comfort. Above him, fine strands of silk and hair were drawn between the pillars at the corners of the bed, forming a web barely an inch above him, glistening in the crimson moonlight.

The light was dimmed for a moment, a shadow passing in front of the open window, lingering there with its back to him. Manjoume didn't turn to look at it, in fact he didn't move at all, laying as still as he could and hoping to be entirely swallowed up by the plushness surrounding him.

"These dreams have to stop." The figure told him.

"Yes, your highness." Manjoume grimaced at how weak and dry his voice had become.

Haou shifted, Manjoume could hear him turn on the spot. Worse, he felt those eyes glaring down at him. The bed beneath him stiffened, the cushioned surface growing taut and beginning to push him upwards.

"No more running."

"Yes your highness."

Manjoume opened his eyes, unaware that he'd been desperately pressing them tight for a while now. The silk web above glinted cruelly, drawn tight and hard as steel.

"Next time, you'll wake up, and you know what happens next."

"Yes your highness."

Manjoume rose to meet the web, wondering if he would be able to hold in the scream when he finally reached it.


	6. Chapter 6

"Tell me about the dreams."

Manjoume took a deep breath and smiled, glancing up at the clock on the wall. There was never enough time.

"They're beautiful, doctor." He told her. "In my dreams, I'm back home. I've been there for years. Everything that happened to me, it's all in the past. I sleep every night in my own bed, and I go about my day like a normal person."

His hands patted down against the arms of the chair. Time sped on.

"And I always come to see you. You always give me good advice, though I don't always remember what it is."

The doctor didn't say anything, she just watched him.

"For however long the dream lasts I'm free. I'm me. Everything I do is mine to do."

"And when you wake up?" She frowned.

"And when I wake up, I'm his. And he punishes me again and again for attempting to escape into my dreams"

The doctor tapped her pen against her palm, shaking her head gently.

"I'm sorry Manjoume. I believe our time here is done."

"You're right." He said, turning to the door, watching as it gradually began to open. "I can't keep the King waiting."

"But you'll be back."

"I don't doubt it." He chuckled. "Every night. Until the punishments become too much."

Manjoume got to his feet, making his way to the open door. The waking world was waiting for him, and he what would happen next.


End file.
